


A Headache and Concussion

by OrangeTomatoPaste



Category: Doctor Strange (2016)
Genre: F/M, Frost Beast - Freeform, concussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 16:51:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8541031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeTomatoPaste/pseuds/OrangeTomatoPaste
Summary: Stephen Strange accidentally dances with Tony Stark's daughter. He meets her again later, after he becomes the sorcerer Doctor Strange, to take care of Thor's forgotten Frost Beast.





	

Stephen Strange always goes to Tony Stark’s galas, especially after he revealed himself as Iron Man. It just seems downright disrespectful to decline invitations after that.  
Stephen adjusts his collar bow tie in the bathroom mirror. He let out a long breath before turning and heading out the door. He does enjoy Stark’s galas, he really does—it’s just that Christine refused to come with him tonight. Something about his ego. He doesn’t know why that was a problem—he was here with the Avengers. He had a hard time picturing them with small egos since they carry the label “Protectors of Earth”. And has she ever met Tony Stark?  
Stephen met Tony Stark after the genius returned from his “time abroad”, as the classier sections of the media had put it. He had treated the genius’s general health, and from then on Stark made sure to invite Stephen to every gala. Stark also never went to another doctor—only Doctor Stephen Strange did check ups for Tony Stark, and in turn Doctor Stephen Strange only did check ups for Tony Stark. No other person received that honor. Stephen is above check ups.  
As he steps back out into the room, his eyes raze for someone to spend the evening with. Despite his uncertain status with Christine, Stephen couldn’t think of any reason why he couldn’t dance with someone else for the night. His eyes alight on a young woman speaking with Black Widow. Although the sight of Black Widow deters him at first, his ego pulls him over anyway. He can pick up women in the presence of Black Widow.  
The young woman, probably twenty-five or six, has short hair and a sparkling grin. When he hears her laugh, he smiles. He wonders if he can make her laugh like that.  
“You are looking ravishing tonight, Miss,” he greets the young woman. Natasha Romanoff blinks in surprise and then smiles at the young woman. “Would you care to dance?” he asks the young woman.  
She glances at Natasha. Natasha winks. “That sounds delightful,” she finally answers, looking Stephen straight in the eyes. For a moment he forgets to breath. Those golden eyes seem to pierce him, and he immediately knows he is not talking to just any woman. This must be one of the Avengers’ newest recruits. Rumor has been that they are seeking anyone with the strength and (most importantly) loyalty to join them.  
“You’re beautiful,” he says, and it’s sincere. “Your eyes are gorgeous.” Very few women pull such sincerity from him. Christine, his first girlfriend, and now this woman. He doesn’t want to talk about his first girlfriend. Christine? Christine is safe. There’s nothing too exciting there. This woman? He hasn’t even received her name, and yet he wants to get to know her. “Has anyone every told you that?” How has someone so young joined the Avengers?  
“You and one other,” she answers honestly. “Aside from some drunken friends, of course.”  
He chuckles and extends a hand. “I am proud to be second, but I am sad that I’m only the second.”  
She takes it. “Let me open with the fact that I don’t know how to do the Jane Austen-dance dialogue exchange,” she says as he pulls her onto the dance floor. “I hope you’re not looking for too many witticisms tonight.”  
“Only as many as you’re comfortable with, Miss. Before we start counting, what is your name?” he asks, staring down at her with those eyes that he knows makes woman go crazy. “It must fit your beauty.”  
“Sam,” she replies. She smirks, and Stephen realizes that his eyes didn’t work. “Sam Stark.”  
Oh. Oh shit.  
“Doctor Strange, what are you doing with my daughter?”  
Stephen practically leaps away from her, fumbling for words, and faces the owner of that furious voice. The Avengers are holding back laughter, a sharp backdrop to a seething Tony Stark. “Uh, I… I am…”  
“Tongue tied?” Sam Stark asks.  
Tony steps forward. Stephen steps back. “I—I didn’t know. I had no idea—,” he stammers.  
Tony folds his arms and taps his foot. “I don’t know what to do with you, Strange,” he states.   
“Slav Squat Shots?”  
“Samantha Stark, stay out of it.”  
“Settle it with a game of pool!” Sam Wilson calls.  
“A test of strength!” Thor calls.   
“Yeah, arm wrestle!” Steve laughs.  
“Drinking game, match shot for shot,” Natasha supplies. Sam Stark smiles at her.  
“I like that one best,” Tony agrees. “Strange, get over to the bar. Now.”  
Stephen relaxes. Sam Stark slaps him on the back. “Good luck.” He scowls at her. She damn well knew what would happen. She just smiles back, pretending like she wasn’t trying to take him down a notch.  
After a few shots, the world spins. It gets pretty fuzzy after that. After a series of nauseous glimpses of the Avengers, vomit, and the New York streetlamps streaming through the car window, he wakes up in his own bed. A splitting headache doesn’t even begin to describe it.  
When he rolls over, a sticky note floats off his forehead to the sheets.  
Tried to give you water. You were pretty salty.  
-Sam  
Like so many times before and so many times after, he vows to never touch alcohol again. And he tries to avoid the Avengers Tower. He only failed one of those resolutions. The alcohol.  
He thinks on that evening as he touches down next to her in London, the unconscious Frost Beast lying in front of them. She wipes her bloodied face. “Damn. Thanks for your help.” Despite her superior evasiveness, the Frost Beast had made her eat concrete before Stephen arrived to the scene. Despite that, he still feels the air leave him when he faces her. God, she’s beautiful.  
He shakes his head and examines her face. He lifts a hand and gently prods her cheekbones before tilting her head up and watching her eyes. She flinches from the sun, but he catches sight of the uneven pupils. “Dizzy?” he questions. Despite the general smell of the city and the blood all around, she still smells sweet. He wants to bury his face in her neck.  
“The world is spinning.”  
“Astute observation. Sit down while I take care of the beast,” he orders. “Which realm did it come from, again?”  
“Jotunheim,” she answers. “Ice place.”  
“Did they really just forget about it?” Stephen asks, mildly mortified at such a slip up. Maybe he needs to keep a closer on Thor, not just Loki.  
“It’s been running around for at least two years,” Sam answers. She disobeys his orders to stay put and follows him. He scowls at her but nonetheless starts to make a portal big enough to shove the beast through. “It didn’t get too antsy until now. Must be Loki’s presence or something. Got it excited.”  
“Why would that be?”  
“Loki’s half Frost Giant,” she answers, then pauses. “Did Thor not tell you?”  
“He failed to mention it. Just as he failed to take care of this two years ago.”  
“Hey now, he had just saved all nine realms. Give him a break.”  
Stephen shakes his head. “And that’s the attitude that made the Accords come to fruition.”  
Sam grows silent after that. Stephen relishes the silence for a few moments as he manages to create the portal below the beast’s body. Snow flies up from the portal, looking as if snow flies from the concrete. The beast falls. Snow puffs up around its body when it lands, and Stephen closes the portal. “It’s safe at home,” he states.  
He turns to face Sam, ready to tell her how best to take care of a concussion, but pauses. She has her hands in her pockets and kicks at the concrete. When she realizes he’s looking at her, she licks her lips and shrugs. “Just thinking about the Accords,” she murmurs.  
Stephen closes his eyes. He regrets his words and checks his next ones. “You chose because you had to choose,” he says. “You shouldn’t feel guilty.” Even though he thought all the Avengers had been acting like babies about it, save for Thor.  
“I haven’t seen Dad in six months.”  
Stephen sets a hand on her shoulder and guides her away. He creates a portal back to the sanctum, from the rare sunny day in London to a rainy day in New York. “The Accords will pass away,” Stephen says. “There will be more important things at stake soon, unfortunately.”  
“Comforting.”  
He faces her again. “You have a concussion.”  
She shrugs. “Can’t really do anything about that.”  
He sighs and brushes hair from her face. She looks up at him, and they’re still beautiful despite the goofy, uneven pupils and the blood smeared across her face. “You should stay here for a night,” he tells her. “I want to make sure there’s nothing else wrong in that head of yours.”  
She opens her mouth to snark back, but then the Cloak of Levitation reaches out and touches her cheek. The awed grin that spreads across her face makes him chuckle. “It likes me!” she exclaims.  
“Traitor,” he mutters to the Cloak. It slips from his shoulders and wraps around hers instead. He doesn’t think someone could look prouder than she does in that moment. It warms his chest.  
“Best traitor ever,” Sam says.  
“Mm. I think I would disagree.”  
“Who, then?” she asks as they walk toward the kitchen.  
“You.” The Cloak slaps him. “Hey!” He shoves it away. Why do his words come out jumbled and pointed when Sam is around? “I’m just trying to say that… Well, who picks the opposite side in a war and then stops an assassination attempt on the enemy?”  
Not too far back, Sam had caught wind of an assassination plan for Tony. The assassin never set foot outside of their home base after she heard of the plan, and they never would again. Although the thought of killing makes him antsy after so long being a doctor, he has come to terms that in the line of this superhero business, you can’t always choose to let someone live. Not if you want peace.  
Sam nods after a few moments of silence, but Stephen can tell he hasn’t convinced her. Instead of telling her to get over it, he pats her shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get some food and then sleep. That fight was longer and harder than expected. We both deserve to relax.”  
“Can I have a drink?”  
“Not with that concussion. How about some water? Or are you too salty?”  
That gets a smirk out of her.  
“So you do remember that?” she asks.  
“Vaguely.” They arrive in the kitchen, a surprisingly sparse little thing. Stephen grabs leftover pasta out of the fridge. “Warmed up?”  
“Cold is fine.”  
He dishes up a plate and slides it to her. She takes it, but doesn’t eat. Stephen starts into his, watching her rub her head. “Splitting headache?”  
“Mm.”  
Perhaps he’ll speak of the irony of it all tomorrow. For now, he just watches the Cloak’s collar stroke her cheek. He learned the importance of observation as a doctor, but now as a sorcerer he learned to apply it to people other than patients. Sometimes silence is best for observation.  
But right now, he can’t keep quiet.  
“I really did want to dance with you,” he says. “I did mean what I said.”  
She smiles, and Stephen grins at the pink dusting her cheeks. “Thanks,” she murmurs. He ducks down and opens the cupboard, remembering the first aid kit. When he pulls it out, she looks at him suspiciously. “What’s that?”  
“What does it look like? First aid kit. If you’re not going to eat, then let me clean your face.”  
“Is there something wrong with it?”  
“Sam, please just—,”  
“That’s not very polite, Strange.”  
“Sam.”  
“Is that how you flirt with all women?”  
He rolls his eyes and opens the kit. “Either we clean that wound or we call the hospital. And your dad.”  
“Why bring Dad into this?”  
“Sam.”  
She drops her hands from her head and lets him work. He steps closer to her, their chests almost touching, and he brings the alcohol up to her face. “I’m sure you’ve heard this before.”  
“It’s going to sting.”  
“Yep.” He takes a rag, wet with alcohol, and starts to clean her cheek as well as his shaking hands can. She winces at first, something that honestly surprises him, but stays still after that. After the amount of injuries she has to have gone through by now—she has a scar on her other cheek, for God’s sake—she still flinches away from the tiny bite of alcohol. Maybe that’s how it always is. You can prepare for the worst wound of your life, but the little ones still catch you off guard.  
As he thinks, his other hand comes up to brush her scar. She lifts an eyebrow. “Was that you or the cloak?”  
The cloak tickles her chin.  
“Traitor,” Stephen hisses at the cloak. Sam laughs lightly. He smiles softly, setting the rag down, his other hand still stroking her scar. “You didn’t have this before,” he says. “What happened?”  
She closes her eyes. “Fight at the airport. Black Panther,” she whispers.  
He swallows. “I’m sorry.”  
She opens her eyes again, still glinting with humor despite everything. “My fault. Never been good with cats.”  
Stephen chuckles. They lean closer together, breaths soft, lips about to brush—  
Mr. Roger’s theme starts playing.  
Stephen pauses. “What is that?”  
Sam lets out a sigh and ducks away from him. She takes out her phone—a flip phone? Tony Stark’s daughter?—and says, “Whaddya want, Steve?”  
Stephen can here Captain America’s voice in the silence of the sanctum. “Did you get the Frost Beast?”  
“Yeah. I did.”  
An audible sigh of relief. And then, “Why didn’t you immediately call me?”  
“Time’s a bit wonky in my head. Got sidetracked by a concussion. I’m visiting a doctor right now.”  
A pause. “A doctor, or Doctor Strange?”  
“What? How did—?”  
“Someone uploaded the fight to YouTube.” Sam sighs and rubs her eyes. Stephen smiles and steps up to her, touching her shoulder. She leans back into him. “Wherever you two are, get some sleep, okay? Be back at base once your head starts to heal. I don’t want you stumbling around like you do on Friday nights.”  
“Yes, Captain.”  
“And good job. That was an impressive take down, before Doctor Strange showed up.”  
“Thanks, Cap.”  
A pause, as if he wants to say more, but instead, “Stay safe, Sam.”  
“You too, Steve. I’ll be back soon.” She shuts the phone and gives Stephen an awkward smile. “Well, I suppose I’ll just go lay down then.”  
He wants to tell her to wait, but instead he just lets her go.  
Except the cloak doesn’t. Stephen suppresses laughter when Sam tries to leave and the cloak drags her back to him. “What? Cloak! Why? Traitor!” She tries to jump, but the cloak keeps her upright and in place.  
“Come,” he finally orders, laughing. The cloak reluctantly leaves her shoulders and rest back on his. “Good girl,” he says to it. It flutters. He looks at Sam to find her looking back, a shy smile on her face. “Sorry.”  
“It’s fine.”  
The cloak yanks him across the floor to her, almost knocking them both to the floor. “Woah!” He wraps his arms around her, one hand on the back of her head, terrified she’ll hit it on the stone floor and make her concussion worse. The cloak keeps them upright and off the floor but wraps tight around them, squishing them together.  
Sam presses her face into his chest to muffle her laughter. Stephen glares at the cloak, but the effect is lost when he presses his lips to the top of her head. Before he can move away, she looks up and brushes their lips together. His stomach flips. As soon as it’s done, it’s over, leaving him hanging.  
“Is that it?” he murmurs, a soft smile on his lips as he gazes down at her, warm in his arms.  
“You want more?”  
He sets his forehead against hers. “You’re beautiful. Why wouldn’t I want more?”  
She reddens. He strokes her scar again. After a moment, she brings up her hand to cover his, her fingers rubbing along his scars. That makes his stomach flip, too. The fact that his hands don’t make her flinch away or inspire pity is enough to send him head over heels.  
He kisses her ear. “You should go lay down. Captain’s orders,” he whispers.   
She shivers, making him smirk. Then she sighs and rests her face in the crook of his neck. “I lied,” she whispers, her arms getting tighter around him.   
Confused, he pulls away a bit, much to the distress of the cloak, and looks down at her. “About what?”  
“About my eyes,” she replies, embarrassment starting to show on her face. She refuses to meet his gaze. “You were the first to compliment my eyes. Or me, in general. Aside from Natasha.”  
“Natasha has good taste,” Stephen says. He tilts her head up and kisses her again. Again. Again. “I meant what I said, back then, and now. You’re beautiful. And you need to lay down. That concussion isn’t exactly a nice one.” Another.  
“It’ll heal within the week.” One to her cheek.  
“You’re lucky your powers heal you so quickly. Come. It’s bedtime for you.”  
“Okay, Doctor.”  
Before she shuts the door behind her, Stephen catches it with his foot. He swallows and asks, “Tony won’t kill me, right?”  
She laughs and shuts the door.  
He doesn’t know what that means.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed!  
> 


End file.
